helen scheuerer
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At the start of every month, I convince myself I know what kind of reader I’m about to be. I set intentions. I picture certain moods. I tell myself I’m ready for a very specific vibe—usually something immersive but manageable, emotional but not completely consuming. A book I can sink into without it dragging me
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I didn’t just read this book; I fell into it, like a dive into cold water that somehow makes you feel more alive the deeper you go. There’s a specific kind of pull that doesn’t just keep you turning pages—it lodges itself in your chest. Iron and Embers has that exact gravity. It’s not quiet.
literary gluttony 